


King's Evidence

by Tsume_Yuki



Category: Shaman King (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Asakura Hao is a bit of an ass, F/M, Gen, I'm starting another story again, No beta we post like men, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, sorry - Freeform, starts 3 years before the Shaman Fight, summary a work in progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24793114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki
Summary: “And if you don’t agree with my cause...” Hao breathes, taking three sure steps across the sand to come to a stop before her. He’s shorter than her, perhaps two inches between them, but he doesn’t straighten in an attempt to make up the difference. Just… assesses her. Then, a soft confession comes with a smile. “People who don’t agree tend to end up as ashes in my wake.”“Ashes.”“Yeah.” He smiles and there’s nothing warm about it now, for all that the soft curve of his lips is far friendlier than any other expression she’s seen on another. “But you’re not like other people, are you? If I kill you, you’ll come back, just like I do.”
Relationships: Asakura Hao & Opacho, Asakura Hao & Original Female Character
Comments: 17
Kudos: 126





	King's Evidence

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the warning; I've not read SK in about a decade. I'll get some things wrong and take liberates with others. It should be fun. 
> 
> Basically, a 'why hasn't anyone else ever managed what Hao did?' followed by a 'that, and then making them somehow opposed to the idea would make them an excellent foil and, whoops, here we are.

**September 1997**

“A reincarnation?”

Luchist smiles, dipping his head after voicing the question. All the while, his eyes flitter across the array of young faces in the playground, scanning. Searching.

It’d been pure coincidence that he’d stumbled across the whispers, stories passed between ghosts in the streets of Basel. Low voices, hushed words, the content catching Luchist’s attention more surely than any of the blatant advertisements plastered across the city.

That had been two days ago; he’s been hard at work since, digging deep into the rumours, chasing leads in his efforts to hunt down the truth. It had all brought him here, to an orphanage situated not too far from the river, ran by a man who can see spirits. Another shaman.

“Does she speak the truth?” Luchist asks quietly, still seeking the child’s face that will house an adult’s eyes. He finds her sitting among a group of younger girls. They’re cross legged on the small patch of greenery the orphanage boasts, the eldest weaving daisies together into one long chain. Her fingers move slowly, the pace at which her lips form instructions clearly adjusted for her audience.

“I don’t doubt her,” the shaman besides him admits at a whisper, his own eyes on the girl. “She’s always been more advanced than the others, unnaturally so. We take in children with an inclination for the spirits; no one else ever understands them, do they? But Babel- the girl just turned up one day. No name other than the one she wanted to give, no papers. I’ve done my research; there’s been a girl with the same name in several countries throughout the past four or centuries. Different features, but always the same name, same story. An orphan, a shaman. Says she’s reincarnated... the only time she’s ever spoken of it outside of the day she arrived was to mention her first father got to see Japan before the isolation period.”

Japan. Hao-sama’s homeland. The place he had left a book with his teachings. Hao-sama, who has been the only one to master the elements and prove himself capable of reincarnation. But, perhaps...

“Thank you, Father. I think I would like to arrange a meeting with the girl. At the weekend, perhaps?”

He spends the three days in the run up to the weekend in the city, absorbing the culture, enjoying the easy amiability of the Swiss. If he just so happens to take his tea at a cafe which is between the orphanage and the nearest school, well, there are no other shaman of interest within the city. He has been sent to seek out potential allies for Hao-sama, as some others of his followers are doing. He doubts they will have found such a curious nugget as this.

Logically, it is possible. It has been a millennium since Hao-sama mastered the elements and the path to reincarnation. There have been billions of people who have lived between that time and the present, hundreds of thousands (perhaps millions) of shamans. It is not unbelievable that another would discover the same path as Hao-sama. What is curious is how they have not made themselves a figurehead. Anyone with that level of power should be well known. Yet, it is only by chance that he uncovered the possibility of a reincarnated soul.

There is something wrong here,

That is why he stakes out the cafe, drinking far more tea than is appropriate, opening a tab that he has no intention of paying, in accordance with Hao-sama’s beliefs on money and they way it has caused fundamental flaws within the governing system.

Her name is Babel; born 1984, June 24th. That puts her at thirteen, physically a year older than Hao-sama. The orphanage has a vast spectrum when it comes to hair colour, but her dull plum is the only shade of its kind among the children so it is not difficult to pick her out from the crowd. It is in fact she who leads the procession of orphanage children to school, the hand of a little one cradled between each set of her fingers, a first aid pouch attached to her hip. It is almost surreal to watch, though it does make it undeniably evident that the girl is abnormal. Too mature, too relaxed in a world of adults to not be classifying herself as one already.

He’s yet to see her guardian spirit, though that in itself is not unusual. There’s the phantom sensation that it is there with her, lingering. Watching.

Luchist sips his tea. One more day until their meeting.

The day of their meeting dawns with a cloudless sky, the hazy greens and blues stretching across the heavens. Luchist has arrived at the orphanage perhaps a tad too early, for it appears the girl is not yet awake. The Father invites him to a cup of tea at their table and Luchist accepts, for all that the flavour is too bitter and the dregs too numerous. The furniture within the kitchen is mismatched, round tables of various sizes and woods, chairs of alternating heights and styles. He occupies one of the few with a cushion, the material patchwork but undeniably clean.

At precisely seven O’clock, the girl pads into the kitchen on sock-clad feet, one hand ruffling the hair atop her head and the other pulling the hem of her pyjama shirt down. The Father follows her in but makes for the stove, no doubt to start cooking breakfast while also showcasing he has no intentions of leaving Luchist to speak with the girl alone. Not that he minds; the Father is a shaman, the girl claims to be a reincarnated spirit and Luchist is unashamed as to where his alliances lie.

“Babel Grether.”

The girl blinks, tilting her head slightly to a side as she hops up into a chair. She’s chosen one of the taller ones, putting them near enough at eye level with one another. The glass blue of her eyes lock onto him and Luchist waits, watches as she considers him. There’s a moment of silence between the two of them and then, the girl smiles.

“I believe you have me at a disadvantage, sir. I am Babel Grether, it’s nice to meet you…”

“Luchist Lasso. I am a shaman and have something of a proposition for you.”

* * *

Babel has lived a long life. Perhaps the best way to tell that truth is the say she has lived many lives instead, one of which hadn’t even been within this dimension. She can recall a time when the year had been counted in the two-thousands, where chunks of metal had been developed into technological advances, a phone, dictionary, map, anything and everything you could need, all on one device. She vaguely recalls dying, being born in a world she’d read about, though that comes in a haze. Recognition that has been buried beneath several life-times of experience.

The key point, however, had been recalling there was a method to mastering her own rebirth. She’d dedicated her first life to it, a life where she’d walked through countries plagued by disease and famine and slavery. Babel had worked hard to reap the reward of rebirth but, when it had happened? She’d had no further plan than that.

And, here she is, seven lives in to this other dimension that is crawling closer and closer to a time she can remember and still she has no idea what to do.

So, she helps people. Anyone who needs it, anyone who can benefit from it; helping a grandmother take her shopping home; in past lives, it’d been hiding political refugees, passing on messages from dead ancestors; she has walked through her life listening for the call of others. And, that is still how she plays it. It’s not a bad way to live; if anything, it is remarkably fulfilling. How many people go on to have a better day, just because she had taken the time to help them? How many people benefited from her existence? From the steps she had taken, all the work she had put in within that first rebirth (the one where she should not have remembered anything from the life before it), how many people across generations had been touched by her helping hands? It is… nice. Thinking about how she is making a difference, that is.

“Thank you, Father.” Accepting the cup of tea that is placed before her, Babel draws the mug closer, nursing the hot porcelain between her palms. The sleeves of her pyjama top are a tad too long, folded back and over themselves to create mockingly large cuffs around her thin wrists, the slight protrusion of her wrist-bone all the more evident for it. Compared to the man (the shaman) that sits across from her, she’s delicate. Tiny. Fragile like the fine china she’s holding.

“You have a proposition for me?” She doesn’t get many of those. Thank yous, little gifts and trinkets from the locals? Yes. But never propositions. Babel draws her lower lip back into her mouth, upper teeth scraping across the flesh as she releases it again. The plan has been to work through school and then, as always, travel. Work odd jobs to live and help people (living and dead alike) to satisfy. She’s not sure if it’s to satisfy herself or something else. But the drive is there, buried beneath her breastbone.

“You are not the only reincarnation I am acquainted with,” Luchist freely admits, drawing his own cup (freshly refilled by Father and smelling stronger, sharper than her own) to his lips and taking a deep sip. “I am sure you know who I speak of.”

Right. The one before her who had uncovered the secret to reincarnation, the one who came before her and paved the way. Of course he’d still be around, capable as she is of reintroducing himself to the world. What had the name been? It’s been a few centuries since she’d heard it, following the father of that body on a fateful trip to Japan.

“It’s been some years, my apologies, but the name is escaping me.”

The man across from her nods, his expression showcasing no emotion, not what he thinks of her poor memory or what he intends to say. Given the topic at hand, she can assume it is... weighty.

“Hao-sama has been reborn to this world and he will become the Shaman King. In the run up to the tournament, we are gathering members for our team.” Oh. And they were interested in her? No, of course they were interested in her; mastering elements and rebirth id hardly a common skill. It’s the very reason she had dedicated her entire lifetime (the first one, that is) to it. She had worked hard for this skill set and to have that acknowledged is... flattering. Still-

“Why does this ‘Hao’ need me?” If he possesses her skill set, along with more centuries under his belt, then the co felt of recruitment seems... unnecessary. Unless there is some element of this tournament that can only be conducted within teams? If so, it makes perfect sense why he would be looking for strong teammates. Ah, the concept of a Shaman King is a hazy one; there is very, very vague imprints of an idea from the first life, the one in the other world. But she’s not heard much about it since. Only that it is a tournament that takes place every five hundred years and, having been born in 1584 the first time around, she’d been several decades too later to participate. It’s 1997 though; the time must be fast approaching. Certainly, she will see it within this life time, unless she dies young again.

“It is our understanding that you are with Hao-sama or against him.” How very ominous.

By the stove, Father looks worried; with a lazy wave, Babel does her best to dismiss the feeling from him.

“Does Hao make this recruitment pitch himself? I do like knowing just what it is I sign up for and...” Babel trails off, running a hand through the bangs of her hair, the other escorting the tea cup to her lips so she may drain the last dregs. And she would quite like to meet the only other person who shares her situation. Mayhap it is professional curiosity, maybe it’s just a passing fancy. But they are two of a kind and Babel would quite like to see how she measures up against this Hao. She wants to know what he thinks of it all, of this ever-changing world and their place within it, as quasi-immortals. “And I think I would like to meet him.” she decides.

From there, it is official. In the eyes of government and law, Luchist adopts her. All the other orphans cry at her looming departure date. Father pulls her into his office and asks if she believes she is doing the right thing. Adal- well, Adal watches her in her comfortable silence, content to venture forth with her, the same as always. If there is one thing she may depend upon, it is Adal’s steadfast loyalty.

On September 23rd, in the year 1997, Babel leaves the orphanage and Switzerland itself.

The flight Luchist takes her on is a long one. The plane seat is comfortable, though she does question how the man can afford this when she has yet to see him draw a wallet or card.

Nonetheless, Babel eagerly accepts the third free beverage that an attendant presses into her palms, taking a second one when Luchist abstains from it.

“We have come tremendously far as a race, you know?” Babel muses, tapping one nail against the reinforced window, the dawning sun bleeding through in golden rays to kiss at the plane’s innards. “Flying had been the dream of man long before I was born and now, here we are, living in a world where technology makes this previously thought to be unachievable goal a reality for the many.” Turning a smile on her temporary companion, Babel pops the can open, sipping at the fizzy pop and allowing it to fizzle across her tongue.

“You believe this is a good thing?”

“All things have elements of good and bad within them: it all depends on your perspective. The fuel, the metal production, the labour costs of everything involved in both the making and piloting of this plane probably weigh on the negative side. But, the potential emotionally and mentally? The wellbeing of the people on board as they fly for a vacation? That needs to be considered to. Then, we strive to improve.”

Luchist is watching her, his eyes flat beneath the heavy weight of his brow. Babel stares back before taking another sip of her drink, this time a long, loud thing that rattled through her skull.

“You have not asked many questions about Hao-sama.” Well, that’s relatively close to the truth. If her guide were to be completely honest, then he would have to state she’s asked no questions. It’s not from a lack of them either; no, Babel is near close to bubbling over with things she wishes to ask. After all, this is the man who discovered just how to control rebirth, the man who is revered as the greatest shaman to have ever lived. Yet, for all that they share this ability (along with a few others)... Babel has never given thought to meeting him. The world is a vast place, full of wondrous little pockets of magic where you can get lost for a lifetime. That they would stumble across each other, two in six billion plus; it’d been unthinkable.

Yet, here she is. The wheels of hate spin on, turned by the hands of destiny.

“I like to form my own opinions first,” Babel concludes, during a smile over to Luchist, near-enough inhaling the last of her pop. “While it’s true you can judge a man on the company he keeps, that’s only relative to what said company show themselves to be. I don’t know you and, as such, I could not think to assume I would know Asakura Hao through you. Ah! We’re about to make our descent!”

They’re in Egypt. Travelling to the camp that Luchist’s fellows have set up takes three days on camel back and it is less exciting that Babel thought it would be. True, she had seen the pyramids two hundred or so years ago, but witnessing them a second time does not make them any less of an impressive sight. Or, so she would think, if they were even heading in that direction. Instead, they are making for an oasis, situation right out in the middle of nowhere and of no importance to the rest of humanity for it.

Every hour or so, they happen across the lost soul of a desert wanderer, someone who has ventured too far with too little water to their name. They’re clothing varies from eras long gone, but they all have that same desperate, thirsty look upon their faces. The sun had dipped below the horizon a half hour ago, leaving them with some of the day’s warmth before the moon leaches it all away. Adjusting the wide brim of her hat, Babel plants her feet into the footsteps Luchist leaves behind, Adal nestling deeper into the fabric of her scarf.

There’s a fire behind the next dune, painting the sand red and outlining the handful of figures that surround it. One figure is whip thin and, Babel notes as she grows closer, boasts of a startlingly large nose. It protrudes far more from his face than it should. The other doesn’t appear to be much taller than her.

“Luchist. You’re back.” The one to address them is non-long nose, cocking his head back and to a side, glancing over his shoulder and smiling. He’s attractive, Babel realises, though physically no older than her. Yet, the near overwhelming levels of Furyoku eclipsing the other man’s make it abundantly clear; this is Asakura Hao.

“Hao-sama. I have found someone of interest. This is Babel Grether. She has reincarnated.” _Like you._ It’s unsaid and yet, the loudest sound in the desert. It drowns out the shifting sands, crackle of the fire, howls of distant winds. Babel steps out from Luchist’s fire-cast shadow, meeting the gaze of Hao straight on as the other shifts around on his rock, fully facing her now. There’s a small African child, perhaps only just reaching the status of toddler, sleeping in the fabric of his poncho cloak.

“Oh? That’s new.” Voice still tainted with that slight twinge of childish lisp, Hao plants one of his elbows upon his thigh, chin cradled in his hand as the other supports the sleeping infant. And oh, how exceptionally strange it is, to look upon the face of another pre-teen and know there is something more hidden under there. It’s an experience that’s only ever struck her when a reflection has been present.

“Hi. I asked Luchist if I could meet you in person before throwing myself into your cause. Not that I’m quite sure what your cause is…” Babel trails off, exhaling slowly as she eyes the brilliant flames, the stranger with the long nose, the pre-teen boy who is perhaps the only human older than her. He smiles easily, rising to his feet and continuing to cradle the sleeping child against his chest. They’re still wrapped up in his poncho and exposing the strip of Hao’s bare midriff beneath.

“And if you don’t agree with my cause...” Hao breathes, taking three sure steps across the sand to come to a stop before her. He’s shorter than her, perhaps two inches between them, but he doesn’t straighten in an attempt to make up the difference. Just… assesses her. Then, a soft confession comes with a smile. “People who don’t agree tend to end up as ashes in my wake.”

“Ashes.”

“Yeah.” He smiles and there’s nothing warm about it now, for all that the soft curve of his lips is far friendlier than any other expression she’s seen on another. “But you’re not like other people, are you? If I kill you, you’ll come back, just like I do.” Hao hums, rocking on his heels, stroking the back of the child in his arms. All the while Babel is trying to organise her mind, to process what the other has just said.

It’s far from the first death threat she’s ever had levelled at her. It’s not even the most serious one, for all that she is sure Hao would follow through on it without a hint of hesitation. There’s a dulled sense of horror there, but that is waylaid by the question.

Why?

Why is she being threatened with death if she doesn’t agree? Obviously because not agreeing must mean standing against Hao. Conclusion? It’s an issue Hao previewed as significant.

Babel likes helping people. She likes bringing smiles to faces and doing good. Babel has also lived a long time. She has experienced war, both as a soldier and a civilian. She’s been to protests and riots and she’s seen the aftermath of corruption, has lived under a corrupt regime.

She has seen people with Hao’s conviction before. The question is, how did he get it? Why does he feel the need to leave ashes in his wake?

“Let’s hear it then.”

It’s obvious Hao knows how to play people like a fiddle; he’s masterful with the manipulation of his words. And Babel is well aware that to control the meaning of the words, you can control the people who must use those words. He applies them well, appealing to her age and experience, pointing out the cesspit of corruption that is slowly drawing the world around them into a chokehold and for what? The acquisition of money? He scoffs at the very concept, blatantly explaining that he doesn’t believe in it and refuses to use it.

He impresses upon her the idea of a Shaman Kingdom on Earth, a place with all the corruptions of humanity removed. It’s… idealistic genocide. The slaughter of many for the security of the few.

“You’re against it.” Hao says it without a trace of emotion, as if it is a fact he is voicing instead of an opinion. The sky is blue. The night is cold. The girl reborn again and again is against it. There’s that question again. Why?

Why does Hao want a shaman only kingdom? Why does he believe this is the only answer to the problems he perceives of the world? She can recognise the corruption of the world around her, but her first thought is not this. Why is it Hao’s decision? What thought processes has he traversed in order to reach this conclusion?

“I don’t understand it,” Babel confesses, sinking down ever so slightly in the surface of the rock before thinking better of it and laying herself out across the top, shoulder-blades rolling with the motion until she’s comfortable. “I can’t envision it without understanding and because I cannot believe in it, I cannot support it. While I agree that there are fundamental flaws with all the societies within the world, I’m not quite sure how this applies solely to humans. I’ve seen greed in shamans too.” Their corruption, their depravity; it is not a trait assigned exclusively to humans.

“Your thought process is something special.”

“Excuse me?!” Hao smiles, stares out into the desert as if he didn’t hear her outburst. Luchist is out among the sands, testing Hao’s new recruit; even from here, Babel can see that his Furyoku levels are significantly lower than any of theirs. Even the child that still slumbers in Hao’s lap. A near death experience can be the only cause for that one, given the age. Sadness sweeps into her chest and Babel allows it to rest there for a single moment before she lets it flow back out.

“I won’t let you kill me without a fight, you know?” Just because she can reincarnate, doesn’t mean she’s so willing to give up what she’s managed to build in this little life. Plus, the first few years are always a pain.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Hao decides, stretching the fingers of his free hand wide and the fire roars to life, a second wind bolstering its spirits. “I’ll show you why a Shaman Kingdom is the only solution.”


End file.
